Just Get Better
by explos-ment
Summary: Oneshot. This is meant to take place right after the last Ian/Mickey scene in the season 4 finale. Rated T for extensive use of bad words.


a/n: Totally random, but have you heard the song 'Her Diamonds' by Rob Thomas? I think that song really applies to Ian + Mickey right now so you should go check it out… Yeah. Enjoy.

* * *

The Gallagher family had been gone for about an hour now, and Mickey was already on his seventh beer. The oldest sister, what was her name? F-something. Felicia? Frankie? Whatever, fuck it. She was still spouting off that bullshit about taking Ian to the clinic as she was leaving, saying dumb shit like "runs in the family" and "this could be really serious", etc. etc. She even mentioned something about leftover Lithium that he could take, but fuck that. Ian wasn't taking anything without a doctor's prescription and Mickey sure as shit wasn't taking him to any doctor for a prescription that would get him locked up in a nut house. So, for now, it seemed like everything was at a standstill, and it could very well be stuck there for a while.

Mickey drained the last of his beer and tossed it in the trash can before heading back to his room. He had developed this pattern of finishing a beer, throwing it away, then going to check on Ian. And after he would open the door and find him in the same exact position as before, he would shut the door and head back to the kitchen for another beer. It had gone on for what, seven, maybe eight rounds? Shit, his head was starting to lose it to the alcohol. So when he opened the door again this time, he expected everything to be the same. Except this time it wasn't. The familiar lump of Ian wasn't there on his bed.

His eyes immediately swept the room as his heart leapt into his throat. This was not happening right now. This was not fucking happening right now. He tore the blanket from the bed and walked around to the other side, he even dropped down to his knees to check underneath the bed. Nothing. Shit, shit shit, shit, SHIT. Mickey stood up too fast and had to brace himself against the bed to stop his head from swimming. The panic tasted metallic on his tongue and the beer was creating a sour stirring in his gut. Fuck.

He barely managed to get the toilet seat up all the way before he started spewing all the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. It burned on the way up – oh how it burned, especially when it started coming out of his nose, making his eyes water. But he kneeled there, hands keeping a firm grip on the lip of the toilet as his body vomited up everything he had. And finally, when he had nothing but bile left to give, his stomach ceased its violence. So much for that good buzz he had going.

Mickey used a shaky hand to wipe at his mouth as he pushed himself up and flushed the toilet. He caught himself on the sink and pressed his forehead against the cool mirror, taking a deep breath to help steady himself. And that's when he noticed the shower curtain move. He thought it might be a trick of the light or maybe even wishful thinking, but as he continued to stare, it moved again.

"Ian?"

He pushed away from the sink and went over to the edge of the curtain, pulling it aside slightly so he could look. Sure enough, there was Ian, sitting in the tub leaning against the wall, naked, and curled in on himself.

"Hey…"

Mickey reached out to touch him, only the tips of his fingers ghosting across Ian's shoulder, but it still made the younger boy flinch away. He was ice cold.

"Hey… Do you wanna take a shower? Is that why you're in here?"

Nothing.

"Hey… Hey, c'mon. I bet a shower would feel good, don't you think?"

Still nothing.

So Mickey reached across to turn on the faucet, but as soon as his hand even brushed the knob, Ian was shouting.

"No!"

"But Ian I-"

"Leave me alone!"

"Goddammit…" Mickey huffed, pulling out of the shower, making sure to close the curtain behind him. He closed the toilet lid and sat down heavily upon it, resting his head in his hands. What was he supposed to do? He gnawed on his bottom lip, the familiar action somewhat comforting to him. If Ian was going to act like this, he couldn't just let him ride it out. Who knows where he would end up next – he could make his way into the damn crawl space underneath the house and freeze to death.

"Shit…"

Tears were welling in his eyes, and he could taste blood, but he kept on chewing. Of course things had to go down like this. What was that stupid saying? It was from some dumb movie Mandy made him watch because she thought all the guys were good looking, and secretly, he agreed with her about some of them. You know, the old-school gang movie with the punk kids, where one dies from getting burned and the other gets blown away by the cops. The Outsiders, yeah, that was it. And that shitty saying that seemed to be the story of his life right now… Nothing gold can stay.

He watched as his tears made little circle prints on his pants, darkening the fabric. He lifted his head up and wiped at his eyes with the heels of his palms before raking his hands through his hair. He leaned to the side and pulled the curtain away again, and this time he just looked at Ian, really looked at him. He was covered in goose bumps, and every once in a while a small shiver would rack his frame, but other than that the kid didn't move. He just sat there towards the front of the tub, leaning against the wall with his arms around his legs and his face buried in his knees.

Mickey swallowed the lump in his throat and let the curtain fall back. He stood up, sniffed and wiped at his nose, then walked the three steps to the door to lock it. He grabbed the biggest fuzziest towels he owned from the cabinet and put them on the closed toilet lid. Then he pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the ground, before dropping his pants and boxers to the floor. Nothing gold can stay? Fuck you.

He moved the curtain to the side just enough so he could step into the tub, careful to not touch the red head as he sat himself down at the back. The cold of the porcelain bit into his warm skin and began leeching his heat away as goose bumps rose on his flesh. Yet he sat there, unmoving, as he watched Ian for any sign of recognition. After a minute of nothing, Mickey stretched out his legs, one of his feet touching Ian's hip, and that's when all hell broke loose.

Ian jumped and made to bolt from the tub, but Mickey scrambled to grab him and pull him backwards against his chest. Ian thrashed in his grip, twisting and jerking, all arms and legs. Mickey caught a few elbows to the ribs and narrowly avoided the back of Ian's head smashing into his nose.

"NO! LET ME GO! GET OFF ME!"

"Ian stop."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Ian…"

"GO AWAY!"

"NO, GODDAMMIT!..."

Mickey buried his face into the crook of Ian's neck, the cold a nice contrast to his burning face. Ian's entire body tensed all at once, his muscles twitching with the effort.

"I'm… I'm never going away again. I'm not. And neither are you Ian, I won't let you."

Mickey let out a pained sob against Ian's skin and the boy twitched once more before he went limp, his head slumping forward. Mickey felt tears fall onto his arms which were wrapped around Ian's chest, and he let his own fall onto the younger boy's shoulder.

He could have stayed like that forever.

But the icy atmosphere of the room was seeping into his bones, and he was shivering along with Ian. So Mickey sniffed and lifted his head up, placing a kiss on the red heads shoulder before reaching forward with one hand and turning on the faucet. He let the water run a bit, waiting for it to get warm, before putting the stopper in and letting the tub fill. Once the water level was to his liking, Mickey turned off the water and moved to a more comfortable position with Ian between his legs. His knees helped to hold the younger boy's torso in line with his own as he leaned against the back of the tub. The movement caused Ian's head to fall back, and Mickey moved to let it rest against his shoulder.

The warm water felt good as it thawed his chilled skin and helped to calm his ragged nerves. This was quite possibly the gayest thing he had ever done. Ever. But you know what? He, Mickey Milkovich was gay. So fuck off, that's what. The only thing that mattered to him right now was the boy in his arms. The boy whose skin was getting warmer by the second and whose goose bumps had vanished. Everything else could just go to hell.

He leaned over and grabbed the washcloth off the holder, lathering it up with the soap before dragging the cloth along Ian's arms and around the front of his neck, his left arm still anchoring Ian to him. Then he lightly scrubbed across his chest and stomach.

"Can you get your legs?"

Mickey offered Ian the washcloth, Ian didn't move.

Mickey sighed and swished the washcloth around in the water, getting out all of the soap before dragging it along Ian's skin again to rinse off the suds. He let it get lost in the tub as he spotted and grabbed the cup from the side, filling it with water and pouring it along Ian's limbs. Once all of the bubbles were gone, he lifted the cup to pour water over Ian's hair, cupping a hand to his forehead so it wouldn't run into his eyes. He did this multiple times before reaching for the shampoo.

"I need you to sit up."

Shockingly enough, this time Ian obliged, his muscles tensing as he lifted himself forward into a sitting position, his head hanging. Mickey didn't waste any time, he sat up and poured the shampoo into his hands before slowly working it into Ian's hair. He knew that it had felt really fucking nice when Mandy had washed his hair a few times in the sink before he let her cut it, so hopefully the younger boy liked it too.

"Lean your head back; I don't wanna get soap in your eyes."

Again, Ian tensed, but he eventually obliged, his head tilting back slowly. Mickey continued to massage the shampoo onto Ian's head, lightly scratching his scalp the way Mandy used to do. He couldn't tell if it was helping or not, but the kid wasn't yelling at him or trying to get away so it was something. The shampoo had started to congeal due to the lack of water, so Mickey grabbed the cup and filled it with water again. He started rinsing the bottom of Ian's flaming hair before making his way to the top, once again cupping a hand against his forehead. And when he knew all of the suds were rinsed out, he leaned forward and pulled the stopper out of the tub.

Mickey stood from the tub and pulled the curtain aside, stepping on the threadbare rug to grab the towels. He secured one around his waist first before turning back to Ian who was still sitting in the tub with his head tilted back, the water swirling away down the drain.

"You wanna get outta there?"

Ian didn't move.

"So we're back to that again huh?"

Silence.

"Alright."

Mickey draped the towel around Ian's shoulders before leaning down and hefting him up, using his own body as leverage. However, Ian's height advantage meant that his legs were still stuck in the tub and Mickey was about ready to fall over.

"Get your feet out of the tub dammit."

Ian's body once again came to life and his muscles bunched as he planted his feet firmly and stepped out of the tub, all the while leaning heavily against the shorter boy. Mickey adjusted the towel around Ian before adjusting his own.

"Alright, let's go"

Mickey secured his arm even tighter around Ian's waist as he moved forward, somewhat dragging the taller boy behind him as he opened the door and made his way to the bed. Ian had no problem falling to the mattress, immediately burying his face into the pillow. Mickey finished drying himself off before pulling on some sweats and a t-shirt. He used his towel to dry Ian's legs and hair, throwing it over the bathroom door when he was done. He grabbed a pair of boxers and painstakingly managed to get them up Ian's long legs to rest on his slender hips. He pulled the towel out from under the red head's body, throwing it behind him before grabbing the blanket and wrapping as much as he could around Ian's prone form.

He stood there watching him for a minute, looking for any signs of life or potential action. But after Ian still hadn't moved, Mickey resigned himself to crawling onto the bed and plastering his body against Ian's back, wrapping an arm around his waist, his chin resting against Ian's shoulder. He could feel the slow rise and fall of the red head's breathing, as well as his heartbeat. It was pulsing strongly through his entire body, the rhythm consistent and comforting.

"Hey," Mickey whispered hoarsely, his throat thick with unshed tears.

"You listened to me earlier, so you need to listen to me now… Get better… I need you to get better. I need you to be okay… You're gonna get better, you'll be alright… Do you hear me? You'll be ok."

Mickey's grip around Ian's stomach tightened as he squeezed his eyes shut, unwanted tears escaping his closed lids. He pressed his nose into the crook of Ian's neck, willing away the burning sensation behind his eyes and nose as he continued to silently cry, all the while murmuring "You'll get better… Please get better… Please be okay… Just get better…" He fell asleep with the mantra on his lips.


End file.
